


penumbra

by Impernia



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Mike Townsend shows up but he's not the focus of this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impernia/pseuds/Impernia
Summary: There’s a lot of things that Lenny could say about being recalled from the Shadows. A lot of it is stuff he doesn’t want to talk about, though. Being called up to play Blaseball was a Blessing. Being called up was, frankly, a curse.'Lenny' Marijuana came back from the Shadows with nothing to call his own except most of his name, what was left of his memories, and the clothes on his back.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	penumbra

There’s a lot of things that Lenny could say about being recalled from the Shadows. A lot of it is stuff he doesn’t  _ want  _ to talk about, though. Being called up to play Blaseball was a Blessing. Being called up was, frankly, a curse.

'Lenny' Marijuana came back from another dimension with nothing to call his own except most of his name, what was left of his memories, and the clothes on his back.

Nobody had been expecting them. The Blessing had apparently already been enacted by that point: One of their hitters had done the paperwork and gone over to cheerleading, and a new batter had signed on to take her place. It’d been done. Nobody had expected him and Mike to come clawing their way out of the dark coughing and weeping. They’d emerged, and they’d collapsed, and then they’d spent the rest of the weekend huddled under blankets and shaking on somebody’s sofa. It’d been all too much at first.

It still echoes in his head now, the sound of every single amp in the echo of the Big Garage turning itself on and slowly dialing it’s way up to eleven. The feedback had rattled his teeth, his bones, everything inside of him. He remembers every bit of the sound, even the parts that hurt. Especially the bits that had hurt. Whatever the Microphone had been trying to do, it’d sure worked, but damn if it didn’t have a  _ kick  _ to it.

All that he talks about. Hadn’t had a choice, after Duende had sat him down to fill the paperwork that had been loudly delivered by Umpire and they’d had to finally explain.  _ (Yes, Marijuana. Yes, related. He knows. He already knows.).  _ Between him and Townsend, they’d managed to tell their story and maybe even make a quarter of it make sense, too.

What he doesn’t talk about is this: Lenny wasn’t meant to come back from the Shadows.

Mike had known it was coming, and Lenny doesn’t ask but he knows the kid  _ must’ve  _ known. He’s the reason he got out, after all: The kid could’ve left him in there, made it to the pitcher’s mound and got a smooth lift home. Instead he’d come sprinting up to him, graceless as hell, and grabbed him and all but dragged him along until he’d gotten the picture and started moving. 

**MIKE** , it had said.  **IT’S TIME. COME BACK** .

And each word had been static, and then they were  _ both  _ static, and the sound bridged the gap between There and Here.

Lenny’s heard some of what they sang for Mike. He can’t say he’s all that impressed by all of it. But one of those songs talks about him and Jaylen, and about Orpheus and Eurydice, and not looking back. Lenny isn’t sure that metaphor is quite fitted for  _ Jaylen _ , is all.

Lenny’s return to existence started a whole lot of nothing, sure. But he’s still got most of it left.

* * *

The story goes like this, when he finally tells it: When he was a younger man, he’d played and he loved it. Worked his ass off, but that effort never seemed to translate into progress. He’d been fine with that, honestly. But then his boys had started playing Blittle League, and they’d loved it too, and part of him had wanted them to know what it was like to give something your all and  _ succeed _ . He’d wanted his sons to get their dreams. It’s what parents are meant to do for their kids, he thinks.

Years later, stuck in the Shadows where he could never do anything but try and nudge things along for their sakes, he’d seen the news. One incineration, and then another. Blaseball had become something terrifying, since the Book opened.

He thinks about it even now, stepping back onto the pitch for the first time in so long. He can’t help it. He’s got a lot to regret, and little to distract himself before going into a game. Maybe if he’d worded it any other way, it never would’ve happened. Maybe if he hadn’t agreed to some nameless price so they could  _ burn brighter than he ever had _ , they could’ve been fine.

Maybe. Maybe.

* * *

He gets to know the team, bit by bit.

He already knew Mike before getting pulled back - the two of them had roamed the Shadow version of Seattle together. It’s hard not to feel fond of him, after everything. But Mike’s still got an infectious sort of joy to him when he introduces him around to everybody he can recognise, and Duende ( _ ‘Call me Teddy’ _ ) takes over for everyone Mike doesn’t know.

He settles in best with the pitchers, though. Mike’s apparently best friends with Betsy, who Lenny is pretty sure he’s seen picking her teeth with a knife before. He doesn’t know how they became friends, and honestly he doesn’t think he wants to ask. He could not describe Arturo if he  _ tried _ , except to say he feels familiar somehow, and Tot Clark is friendly if a bit hard to actually talk to. Durham Spaceman...Is kind of an enigma, and Lenny struggles to talk to them without looking up at the helmet. Lenny does not want to talk about the helmet. Durham also practices batting before games. They’re a pitcher. Lenny doesn’t - what do you say to that? He’s got nothing. He has no response he can give for it. It’s clearly working, they’re one of the best on the team, but it’s definitely...something.

(Another secret he chooses to keep. Another reminder of his regrets. They seem apologetic, for what it counts, but it’s hard to shake the memory of being shown Randy's face there  when he’d looked up at them for the first time.)

He’s settling in, bit by bit. Mike is living with Betsy - he lost his flat when he’d gotten pulled into the Shadows, and Lenny hasn’t got a credit score. Lenny is...Actually, he got declared legally dead at some point. He can’t say he’s surprised. But it means a lot of paperwork getting that fixed. Teddy helps. Teddy helps with a lot. The fact that Lenny also lives on his sofa right now whenever they’re actually in Seattle may or may not contribute to his assessment of Teddy. Teddy’s good people, kind of gruff, trying his best.

He spends his time talking to Ortiz Morse, talking to Terell Bradley, laughing and joking and watching the games he’s not playing in, living in the Garages’s shadow without being in their Shadow. They don’t get it, but they know they don’t need to. The Dad’s Grill starts stocking more non-alcoholic options, and he’s grateful for it.

Terell asks him about his boys, sometimes. Tells him about his own array of kids. He’s got so much love for them. Lenny’s heart aches to see it, sometimes. He shares the stories of them when they were young, before everything happened, and with each one he tells his finds his mind wandering and pulling back more details than he thought he still had. The gaps left behind from the Shadows are still gaping wounds, leaving his personal history feeling more like swiss cheese when he tries to think his way through it, but it's still an improvement. Inch by inch, he's building something like a life up for himself again.

His name is gone, but he's fine with that. He can live with being Lenny. His memories of Randy and Dom were always more important to hang onto.

* * *

The Crabs are playing the Shoethieves, and the team fought tooth and nail to get seats because it’s the  _ Finals  _ and they need to know what happens next. He’s got Tot on one side of him and Mike on the other, and Greer and Malik and Oliver (Muller, not Notarobot) behind him. They’re in Baltimore, and everybody’s as tense as they are excited. Mike’s been quiet since Jaylen got lost to the Hall. Teddy’s already sent a copy of the Un-Death paperwork to the Shoethieves. Lenny never spoke to Jaylen, so he doesn’t know how he feels. He’s got time to work it out later. 

The Crabs win. The Peanut arrives, and he curses it out as the whole crowd dives for shelter. There isn’t enough time for that many bodies to get out, and he shudders as he watches the  _ brutality  _ with which the team is knocked down by the sky bastard.

“Wait,” somebody is saying next to him. "Woodstock, wait. _Wait!"_

There’s a flicker on the field, and he double takes when he sees somebody arrive, weather in blue flame.

“Look,” says Greer, hand clapping down onto his shoulder as his voice is suddenly yelling in his ear, “Lenny, shit,  _ look!” _

And the crowd is screaming, and Lenny can’t hear a damn word of it, not when he’s following the finger down to the back of a jersey with a familiar number on it. It’s joined by another, and then another, and the crowd is  _ roaring _ , and there’s the scream of feedback rattling his lungs and bones and his voice is part of it too as a second joins the first that he’s looking at. There’s a total of twelve blue jerseys down there, but only two of them have  _ 420  _ written on the back of them.

People are on their feet and they are reclaiming their seats and the whole league rallies to cheer for their Hall Stars. Lenny watches his sons fight a God, hands shaking, voice dead because what do you say? He was always proud of them, no matter what. He will always love his sons. But he cannot imagine being prouder than he is in this moment, watching them both step up to the plate without flinching or fear. They never look back.

His Dominic strikes the final home run, the ball shattering the shell of the self-proclaimed God overhead, and there isn’t a person in that stadium who doesn’t know his name.

He throws his hand forward, and somebody is holding the other one and squeezing, and there noise in his ears is coming from his mouth and the mouth of everyone around them as they roar. His sons just fought a God and won, his son just  _ killed a God _ . He is in Baltimore. He’s on his feet, he’s got to get over there, more than anything Lenny needs to be there for once-

He's-

He is in Seattle.

They all are, all of a sudden. The team is packed around him in Dad’s Grill, voices still raised and lost in the crowd as everybody watches on TV, and his arm is outstretched towards the screen. His hands are shaking. The picture is blurring, and his face is wet, and the noise around him is jubilation and confusion and noise, noise, noise. It's all static to him. What just happened?

The Pods are gone from the screen. He watches as the Stars file out of sight, dropping their bats and mitts on the way, and Lenny watches as Dominic wraps an arm around Randy’s shoulders as they leave. There’s something else going on, but what it is doesn’t matter. Not as much as seeing their smiles just one more time before they dip out of view.

* * *

Days later, Mike signs the paperwork that’ll let him step back from the team if they find a replacement pitcher to take his spot. Not even twenty minutes later, Goodwin Morrin stumbles into their midst, a mass of shadows fanning out behind her like additional arms. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” Lenny asks him quietly. The Blessings only declared after she walked in, after all. "You knew it'd be us."

“it’s what i had to do, you know?” Mike says with a shrug. 

Lenny doesn’t. But he thinks about how many times he’s heard people sing that particular chorus back and forth to each other, and wonders, and he says nothing. The silence is something else for him to regret, in the days to come. 

* * *

It’s season eleven. It’s the first of the finals of season eleven. Lenny is pitching shortly, under the light of a second sun. Before the game his mind wandered to all his regrets, the sons he should’ve been there for, the second chance he still feels he’s not sure he’s earned yet. He heard the fans whispering  _ Oh no, not Lenny  _ under the screams of support for the Sunbeams. He knows he’s the worst pitcher in the Garages. He knows he’s losing this game for them. They’re bottom of the ten, the score is 6-7, and he is about to fully lose this game. It’s taking everything he has not to tip his head back and stare up at the sun. That’s not even something he  _ believes  _ in.

...Wait. 

If he pulls this off, it’ll be a hell of a thing. 

He pulls his arm back, plan coming together on the fly, and he's thinking of how everybody said Jaylen pitched like Mike when she had to, and he can’t pitch like _Mike_ but he can pitch the way he used to back when his boys were young and still knew him and knew what his face looked like and were still learning-

Castillo walks, and Delacruz walks, and that’s a hit and a score, and the crowd is screaming all around him. He isn’t listening to hear what they're saying because he’s sitting on 6-9 and he just needs them to get  _ one  _ more run. He pitches. Nava is swinging and running, and by then it's already done. He’s grinning as the scoreboard rolls over. The Sun flares bright and blinding overheard. Those ten runs are gone, and it’s far too late for the Beams to stop the fact the Garages are now six runs ahead. It might only be on a technicality, but the record’ll go down showing that Lenny Marijuana just pitched a shutout game and won the first game of the Internet Series Final for this season. He did it.

Briefly, though he’ll never admit to it, he tilts his face back and stares up at the bright light he never got in the Shadows. 

When he looks down again, his eyes wander across the stadium crowd and stutters to a halt, just for a second. There are two faces watching him, not quite front row but nearly, and by rights he shouldn’t have spotted them. Not at this distance. But they’re watching, and they’re proud, and they’re  _ here _ . Of all the games they could’ve made it for, he’s glad it was this. His sons, the two of them, smile. And it feels so much better, so much warmer than sunlight ever could.

He rolls his shoulders again. It's not done until he's parked it, but he knows he can. And after that, maybe - just maybe - he can have a second chance with his boys, too.


End file.
